


let go

by blamethenargless



Series: Catradora Week 2018 [3]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Closure, F/F, Growth, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Past Relationship(s), Personal Growth, Post-Canon, Sort of? - Freeform, pre-canon catradora, shadow weaver's gotta shadow weaver ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamethenargless/pseuds/blamethenargless
Summary: "I miss you so, so much. So, yeah, when I open the window to you and to all this nostalgia, of course I let you in. I’ll always let you in. If only you would do the same.”orCatra and Adora keep meeting off the battlefield. They reminisce, they blame, and they grow.





	let go

**Author's Note:**

> This is my work for day three of Catradora Week 2018. I chose the prompt seasons. As always, everything belongs to the creator. Enjoy!

Summertime’s the hardest. It brings back the lazy memories, days spent in a haze of sunshine and stolen kisses and running off to flirt in deserted corridors. It brings back what was good—the little that was good about the Fright Zone—and to Adora, remembering the good makes it all the more difficult to stay on track. To fight. To rebel, or whatever it is that their alliance is doing. 

  
Nowadays, the rebellion doesn’t seem to be doing much.

  
So it’s on a warm summer day that Adora finds herself face-to-face with Catra again. For the first time in years.

  
She’s taller, and she’s filled out a bit more. She should be around twenty, twenty-one now. (Adora’s recently celebrated her own twentieth birthday. Glimmer decided that not having a birthday was a punishable crime, so she and Bow assigned Adora a date. June eighteenth.) Her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail, which is a look Adora rarely got to see. She still wears the metal headdress Adora got for her when they were about fourteen. It’s too small now, and is clearly pinching a little at the temples, but Catra seems to be used to it. She wears black. She wears the pin of Force Captain. She wears a vicious scowl.

  
So, not much has changed. A little, but not enough. Adora’s not that changed, either. She cut her hair to her shoulders a few months back, and she wears some of Glimmer and Bow’s colourful attire occasionally, and she’s matured. But she’s still the same too-scared, too-moral girl she was when she left the Fright Zone years ago.  


“Hi,” Adora says, because there’s nothing else to say.   


“Hey, Adora. How’ve you been?” Catra’s face is fixed in anger, but her tone is light, and she picks under her claws nonchalantly.   


“Good. Pretty good.”   


“I suppose you won’t tell me what the Rebellion’s up to?”   


Adora laughs, surprising herself. “No. I’m not that stupid, Catra.”   


“Mm. Pity. I was sent to fight it out of you, but… it’s such a nice day. I wouldn’t want to waste it on you.”   


“Likewise,” Adora says, and she’s lying, lying bad, because she wants nothing more than to tackle Catra and to demand to know  _ what the hell you’ve been doing for almost four years, Catra? You disappeared. I had no idea what happened. I thought you could have died, Catra, died and not told me. I would have never known. I would have never apologized. _   


When she shakes her head to clear her thoughts, though, Catra’s already bounding away.   


\---

Fall’s a little easier. The air’s hard enough to cut at her cheeks when Adora takes herself out for a picnic towards the tail end of September, and hard enough to push most memories of Catra out of her mind. The meeting a few months ago threw her, but Catra hadn’t surfaced since then, and Adora’s pretty fine with trying to force herself to move on. The Rebellion and the Horde are at a stalemate. There’s nothing to be gained from obsessing, she tells herself.   


Her basket is loaded with berries and sandwiches. After a long day of training as She-Ra, Adora eats practically her own bodyweight in food to make up for the caloric loss. It’s not hard to find a clearing in the woods, and though the leaves rain down on her, she’s at peace as she digs into her feast.   


The sound of leaves twisting underfoot reaches her ear, and she sits up, looking around. Between the trees, she sees a form twisting away.   


She knows it’s Catra. Has to be Catra. Is always Catra.   


So she calls her name. And Catra stops. And Catra turns around. And Catra walks towards her and sits down next to her.   


“You’re tracking me,” Adora says, because it’s true.   


“Yes,” Catra replies. “It’s not hard. You really don’t do anything, do you? Nothing that warrants being covert, and no attacks. It’s pretty lame, if I’m being honest. When are you guys going to make a move on us? I’m getting soft without battle toughening me up.”   


“You’re the one spending your time following me, though, so I’m pretty sure you’re the one who needs to get a hobby.”   


Catra blinks in shock and rises to a crouch. And then she laughs, laughs hard and true. It strikes with Adora’s pulse, this laugh that she’s so dearly missed. “Funny, Adora. True, I guess. I didn’t know you had it in you to doll out a diss, though.”   


Adora just shrugs. “It’s been four years, Catra. People change.”   


“Yeah. People change, but you don’t. You never did in all your sixteen or seventeen years with me. So forgive me if I’m a bit surprised you’ve finally grown a backbone.”  
“Obfuscating is a nice tactic, but it doesn’t eliminate the fact that you’ve been tracking me for at least three months at this point.”  


“Gotta keep an eye on the enemy, Adora. Can I take some of this?”   


“No.”   


Catra slings an arm around Adora’s shoulders, and Adora swears her heart all but leaps out of her chest. This is how it used to be in the fall time, with the dead leaves covering the floor of their treehouse in the woods, with each day growing colder and each day growing shorter and each day providing more excuses to touch for  _ body heat, Adora, use your brain. It’s not because I like you. _ _  
_

Something inside Adora cracks, so she says, “Actually, sure. Go for it. Take whatever berries you want. Leave the bread, though.”   


Catra gives her a cocky wink, gathers her provisions, and saunters away.   


When she’s gone, Adora sighs.   


\---

  
The winter frost means less opportunity for Adora to go outside, which she’s perfectly fine with. She doesn’t want to risk another encounter with Catra.  


She’s not surprised, though, when she wakes at midnight for a glass of water, and sees Catra perched on her balcony railing. She is surprised, though, when she opens the door to let Catra in.   


“It’s cold out,” Catra says as a way of greeting.   


“I noticed. I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything?”   


Catra swoons. “What a hostess! And, yes, that would be great. Should I come with you, or do you not want me knowing the inner workings of Bright Moon’s stronghold?”

Adora weighs the options. On the one hand, Catra has a point. On the other, she doesn’t want Catra snooping in her room. So she motions for Catra to walk with her.   


The hallways seem longer than ever. Adora doesn’t want to speak, for fear of someone hearing and finding them out. And, yes, as a high-ranking soldier in the Rebellion, her choices in guests do hold some weight, but Catra isn’t just some guest. She’s a Horde soldier. And she’s not just any Horde soldier. She’s…she’s Catra. So Adora says nothing. Catra says nothing, too, and her steps are light and soundless on the marble-esque floor.   


The kitchen emerges on their left, and Adora holds the door open for Catra as she passes through. She pours herself a glass of water. “What would you like to drink?” she asks.   


“Do you have any liquor you could spare? Shadow Weaver’s always on my ass, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to sneak it.”

“Sure thing. If you’re tipsy you’re stupid. Win-win,” Adora replies, and hands Catra a bottle of some cheap local alcohol.   


“Win-win,” Catra echoes, unscrewing the bottle and taking a swig. She wipes at her mouth and offers it to Adora, who politely declines.   


A beat. Another. The moments stretch on, with Adora sipping from her glass and Catra drinking from her bottle.   


Finally, Adora breaks. “Why are you here, Catra?”   


“Why’d you let me in?” Catra responds, quick as a whip. “It was a dumb tactical move on your part. And you let me take your food this fall. And you didn’t kick my ass on sight this summer.”

“That’s none of your business. Give me that,” Adora says defensively, and steals a sip from Catra’s bottle. The liquor burns at her throat, but she takes another sip, and another.   


This, this was what they used to be. Winter cuddles and stolen drinks and their first kiss ever, at fifteen, when they were both a little too drunk and a lot too tired and seriously in need of someone they could love unconditionally. So they collided, collided hard and fast, and remade themselves in the supernova that followed. They’d been friends before—best friends, even—but it wasn’t until that winter night when Adora took down her hair and let herself go and let herself be free, for once.    


Catra had laughed at the sight: Adora, ponytail undone and face a blushing mess, with bottles under her arm and her jacket slung in disarray over her shoulder, had stumbled back into the barracks and woken Catra with an urgent shake.  _ Get up, _ she had said. _ I need you _ , she had said.   


And Catra, who needed Adora, didn’t question it for a second.   


Days later, Adora kissed her again, completely sober. Catra panicked. Ran away. And, thirty minutes later, found her way back and swept Adora up in the most passionate  kiss of her life. Though, to be fair, it was only her second or fourth kiss ever.    


So now, on this winter night, with the two girls seated on stools and passing a bottle, Adora decides that maybe it’s time to break away again.   


“Because I miss you,” she says simply.   


Catra starts. “Pardon?”   


“I miss you, Catra.” Now that the dam’s broken, there’s no stopping the torrent of emotion that flows out of her. “I miss you so much it hurts me. It’s been four years—four _fucking_ years, Catra, and not once did you let me know you were still there. And suddenly you show up on some breezy summer day and it reminds me of the way you used to lie in the patches of sunshine and I would braid your hair and we were happy. So I screwed up. So I left. So I did a lot wrong. But you did too, Catra. I miss you. I missed you so much those first few months, you know? Even though I kept seeing you, it was never in the way I wanted. It never turned out the way you wanted. I guess some small part of me thought that one day, you would see me, and you would remember how much I loved you—yes, Catra, I _loved_ you—and you would defect. Shadow Weaver hurt you. Hurts you. I don’t get why you can’t go. You would be so much better here. With me, Catra. I miss you so, so much. So, yeah, when I open the window to you and to all this nostalgia, of course I let you in. I’ll _always_ let you in. If only you would do the same.” Catra’s silent. Adora grabs the bottle of liquor and throws the last bits down her throat furiously.  


“I’m sorry,” Catra says, so softly Adora thinks she imagined it.   


“You are?”   


“Yeah. I could have told you I was still out here. You’re right about that. But that’s where it ends, Adora,” she snarls, and Adora jumps up to a defensive stance as best she can with the alcohol addling her brain. “I can’t leave. I can  _ never _ leave. If I try, things will get so much worse. You don’t understand Shadow Weaver, and you never have. I’ve always known we were the bad guys. But I’ve also always known that I was never born, never bred to be good. Call it destiny, or some other spiritual bullshit, but it’s true. Shadow Weaver may be horrible, but she’s right. I’m a nothing. All I can do is fight and fight and fight because I want to prove I’m alive. So I thought maybe, just  _ maybe _ , after four years of nothing, I could bug the hell out of you, and you would attack me. Kill me, at best. Hurt me, at the very least. But, no,” Catra sneers, throwing her hands in the air, “I forgot that you’re the golden girl who can do no wrong. You would never hurt me, even if it’s what I want. You only care about you.”   


“That’s ridiculous. I would never hurt you. Would never kill you, Catra, what the hell?”   


Catra laughs, a low and scornful thing. “Nah. You would, years ago. Now? Now you wouldn’t. So I’ll leave you alone. I’m not gonna get what I came for. Bye,” she says, and she stumbles out the door.   
  


\---

In the spring, Adora thinks that it’s time to let go. She hasn’t seen Catra for a while, and she hasn’t seen any signs of the girl tracking her anymore. Maybe Catra’s let go, too.   


But, she thinks, she needs one last meeting. She needs closure.   


So in the spring, almost exactly five years after leaving, Adora journeys to the Fright Zone once more.   


Things have changed. The guards have changed, which she excepted, so she knows she’s not gonna sweet talk or fight her way in, depending on what cadet was on guard. 

But the atmosphere’s changed, too. It’s like a layer of frost has fallen over the Zone, pausing movement. The metal pipes seem to creak in the spring breeze, and a few  flowers that have traveled on the wind land softly on the rusty rooftops. Clearly, maintenance hasn’t been done in a while.   


Adora approaches the guard to the main entrance. “Hello,” she says. “I need to speak to Catra.”   


“The Force Captain? Yeah, she should be around here somewhere. She usually eats lunch outside. Who are you, though, and what’s your business with her?”   


“I’m an old friend. Adora,” she risks.   


The guard nods knowingly. “That Adora. So, I’m technically not supposed to let you in, but I think talking to her would be good for her mental state, and then maybe she wouldn’t assign me such hard shifts. Good luck,” he says, and pats her shoulder as she brushes by.   


Catra’s at the highest vantage point, which Adora’s not surprised about. She always liked to get up, to get away. 

When Adora reaches the base, she cups her hands around her mouth and calls out Catra’s name. The other girl rolls her eyes, but bounds down the junk pile to the ground.   


She tackles Adora to the ground, claws out, teeth bared. “One sentence to save your life, Adora.”   


“I’m here to say I’m sorry.”

Catra sits back on her heels. “You’ve never done that before. I’m interested to see how it goes.  _ Talk _ .”   


“I’m sorry that I keep bothering you. I’m sorry that I blew up at you this winter. It wasn’t fair of me. We all have our things, and I should have tried to extend a lifeline instead of putting that blame on you. Mostly, though, I’m sorry that I’m here. I know you don’t want to deal with me. But I think I needed to say goodbye to you one last time before letting go.”   


Catra blinks slowly. “Thank you,” she ventures. “Is that all? If it’s all, I’m gonna ask you to go before Shadow Weaver finds out you’re here.”   


“That’s all. Goodbye, Catra.”   


“Bye,” Catra replies.   


Adora brushes the dirt off of her cloak and pushes herself to her feet. She turns to walk away.

“Wait!” she hears, and when she looks over her shoulder, she sees a small, terrified girl. Not a woman who’s quite literally clawed her way to Force Captain. Not the cocky and standoffish soldier who swaggers her way through life with apathy and a lopsided smile. Not the mask Catra wears, but the girl inside. The girl whose best friend and lover broke her promise and left. The girl who feels far too much and far too often and doesn’t know how to get herself to stop.

When Adora turns, she sees Catra, and she meets her gaze.   


Catra throws her arms around Adora, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispers into Adora’s ear. “For everything. If we meet again, we may have to fight, but at least I know how you feel about this. And if we fight, I know you’ll win. You always did win, Adora.” There’s no resentment in her voice, just the broken, honest truth.   


“Thank you, too,” Adora says.   


She leaves.   


It’s springtime. The flowers are blooming, and the woods buzz with all sorts of animals who create new life and start a new day. And Adora will start a new day, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos/Comments always appreciated :)


End file.
